


Love and Pragmatism

by DinoDina



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-06 23:14:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11046354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DinoDina/pseuds/DinoDina
Summary: At the age of five, Ianto knows that soulmates aren't real. That knowledge keeps him company into adulthood, until it's called into question.





	Love and Pragmatism

At the age of five, Ianto's opinion of soulmates is straightforward: they're not real. He, like every other child, has grown up hearing about them. He knows that the human body instinctively knows its partner—or partners, in some cases—by touch, and reacts with a sharp, pulsing pain. It's not _really_ pain, he knows, because it's documented to be a divine feeling.

He knows, like every other child does, that his soulmate is somewhere out there, waiting and wanting him in return. He knows that he'll meet his soulmate at some point in his life, and feel a brilliant throbbing in his heart that will tell him everything. He knows that the pain will fade into a pleasant feeling when that love is realized.

He _knows_ that. And yet Ianto's not met anyone who actually _has_ a soulmate. He knows all about the concept from fairytales and newspaper clippings, but nothing that's concrete.

He's six, ridiculously pragmatic for his age, and doesn't believe a single account of someone finding their soulmate.

He supposes that it's easy to dismiss a completely natural heartbeat in favor of romantic delusions. People are, after all, hopeful beings. Still, he firmly believes that it's all poppycock, and doesn't mask his disgust when his teacher assures him that he'll meet the right girl someday.

What does she know?

He knows for a fact that she's thrice scorned by the same man—who she no doubt believes to be her soulmate—and that she's not seen him in two years, yet still holds out for him.

If that's what love is, Ianto doesn't want it.

He's seven, and of the same opinion; eight, and that doesn't change; nine, and he's learned by now to keep his mouth shut; ten, and still obstinate.

Ianto notices that the more people have reason to deny the existence of soulmates, the more they cling to the idea. His sister never shuts up about it—where their father can't hear her—and Ianto tunes her out. He'll never change his belief, he tells himself, because if he does, he's going to be disappointed.

Rhiannon meets her soulmate when she turns sixteen, and they're married two years later. Ianto attends and acts the petulant teenager, but he's never been happier for her.

Ianto's heart, for its own part, hasn't expressed any interest in people. He's had relationships, of course, since only a handful of people are celibate and waiting for their soulmate, but they haven't lasted.

He's eighteen, just having gotten to London, and he feels like he's all alone in the world. He is, to an extent. He has a handful of friends, and he knows he can come to his sister anytime, but he doesn't _feel_ it.

He's almost nineteen, and he's just found Torchwood.

He's just found Lisa.

For the first time, he has reason to doubt his theory about soulmates. After all, doesn't the heart just _know_? Ianto thinks his does, because he loves Lisa. She loves him, too, and he wonders if she feels the pain and heat she's supposed to. He doesn't.

That, more than anything else, cements the idea Ianto has just considered discarding. He loves Lisa, and Lisa loves him, but save for the occasional adrenaline-fueled or nervous fluttering of his heart, he doesn't feel it.

He wonders if he's broken.

Lisa assures him that, no, he's not, and they decide to move in together.

"I love you, Ianto," she says first, like the absolute angel she is.

"I love you, too, Lisa," he replies, and feels so happy he could fly.

She laughs a response and calls him sentimental. He is. He nods, and she says, "I love you. No matter how ridiculous you are, I love you, Ianto."

He feels no discomfort, just euphoria. He feels it way into the night, after they're done cuddling on the couch and looking for furniture for the flat they're going to buy together. They buy it the next day, because Torchwood clearance is amazing, and spend the next night in their new bed.

"I'd spend forever like this, if I could," Lisa says softly. "With you."

"I would, too," he replies, even though he knows that even love cannot hold out against time, but _forever_ is a concept he doesn't think he'd ever be able to grasp.

"I'm glad," she says, even quieter than before, then moves closer to him and lays her head on his chest. They fall asleep like that.

They talk about soulmates only once.

Ianto supposes it's a subject every couple discusses because the increasing social pressure of it forces them to. Even with their relationship, he's a bit of a skeptic. Not in the sense that he doesn't think Lisa is his soulmate, but in the sense that everything he's been taught is a lie.

Love isn't pain, love is happiness.

"I love you," Lisa tells him as they sit together in a restaurant. "I'd marry you."

Ianto laughs, not daring to hope. "Would you?"

"I would." Something crosses her face. "Do you believe in soulmates, Ianto?"

It takes him a moment to answer. When he does, he wonders if this will determine the longevity of their relationship. "I believe that I'm supposed to spend the rest of my life with you, if you'll have me."

That does the trick. Lisa lights up and Ianto does, too. On the subject of the longevity of their relationship, they begin talking about moving into a house together.

They don't.

Ianto is twenty-three, but that doesn't matter.

There's a girl next to him, just minutes ago cheerfully telling him that she's twenty-two and two months, two weeks, and two days old and _isn't that funny?_ , and she's alive one minute and dead the next.

There's a man down the hall, and Ianto knows him well enough. They're in the same department, and departments at Torchwood—especially one like his—are tight-knit. His name is Richard, and Ianto doesn't even hear him scream. Richard is fifty-seven, with a grandchild on the way.

Ninety: a visiting delegate from UNIT who is only there because he was bored in retirement.

Seventeen: a genius just entering university but already snatched up into the training program.

Twenty-five: Lisa's friend, shot down as she's telling Ianto that they're doomed and she doesn't know where Lisa is.

Twenty-three: Ianto himself, just barely managing to hide as a group of Cybermen passes him.

Forty-seven: the head of the Field Office.

Twenty-three: Ianto, running towards the Cybermen, not away from them, because Lisa is that way.

He's always been sensitive to time, able to tell it to the minute just because he _knew_. Some people are artists and some are writers; Ianto has a stopwatch in his pocket, but he doesn't need it.

Time is stable, yet fluid. It doesn't slow down or speed up, but it feels like it. Even Ianto, desperate to cling to reality, can't keep up with it. It seems that his internal clock isn't that accurate, because he can't answer if it's been hours or minutes since the arrival of the Cybermen that he finds Lisa.

His heart drops into his stomach, then gets stuck in his throat. He can't breathe.

_Hecan'tbreathehecan'tbreathehecan'tbreathe_.

Perhaps this is what people mean when they talk about soulmates. Maybe. It's the most pain Ianto's been in—breaking his leg, falling down the stairs, missing a bullet—and it's killing him from the inside.

Lisa is screaming.

Ianto is, too.

Time goes back to normal soon enough, but his heart doesn't. He hurts in tandem with Lisa, and it's not a physical pain like hers, but something deep inside that he doesn't get a reprieve from. He's not saying it hurts more than what she's going through, but he's not sure he's going to be able to make it.

But for her, he will.

For her, he goes to Cardiff, even though he promised never to return. For her, he captures and trains a pteranodon. For her, he meets Captain Jack Harkness.

Until that moment, he's been barely living. He's not sleeping because Lisa isn't, he's barely eating because he's too busy taking care of her and researching Torchwood Cardiff. He's walking around feeling like his heart is being held in a vice.

He's misunderstood love. Love isn't happiness, it's overcoming. There's pain and more pain and even more pain, and then maybe everything turns out.

He's not deluding himself by thinking that the pain in his heart is a confirmation of his belonging with Lisa. He's far too pragmatic for that. Far too pessimistic, some could say, and perhaps they'd be right. Ianto doesn't need his heart to irregularly beat to know that he's in love with Lisa, that he should be with her forever.

He's fallen in love with her without the signal, and he'll stay in love with her no matter how his heart decides to beat.

Besides, his heart's beating normally, it just _hurts_.

He's twenty-three, tired, heartbroken, yet manages to hold onto his sanity.

He puts up a good front, he thinks.

He thinks so until Harkness is in the air, until he falls down into Ianto's arms and they roll over away from the falling dinosaur. He thinks so until there's a weight on his chest that won't go away and he's having trouble breathing, and that has nothing to do with fear or adrenaline.

Ianto climbs out from under Harkness and leaves the warehouse with as much dignity as possible. That's not a lot, but Harkness doesn't know that.

He breaks into a run as soon as he leaves, and _runs-runs-runs_ back to his flat. He can't do it, he thinks—he knows.

There are things he knows, like time and his love for Lisa, and he doesn't know this. This… this thing… it's not academic. It's not facts, and it's not even solid feelings. It's there, and it hurts, and Ianto can't stand it.

Lisa's pain is enough to break Ianto from his stupor. She can't hear him, but he says "I love you," and cries until he falls asleep.

The next morning, as promised, he reports to work.

Torchwood Three is nothing like London. It's not as clinical, not as cruel, not as large. It's nothing like it—and operates with that belief, the people contemptuous of their London counterparts and showing no sympathy or mercy—and yet it's almost exactly the same.

The people: self-centered and self-serving, trying to get their hands on weapons and technology at whatever cost. Self-righteous at times, and dangerous because of their poor discipline. (But Ianto knows how discipline got people in trouble before, because everyone who was wary of the Ghost Shifts said nothing.)

The aliens they treat better, but the cells are hardly humane. They test on the aliens, too, but justify it: _they can't feel it_ , _it's just this once_ , _it isn't even supposed to hurt_.

Their leader is brash and egotistical. He can't handle criticism, but believes himself to be unworthy. It's easy to tell by his actions that he's not as strong as he presents himself. It's easy to tell that his anecdotes are true but long-passed. He's lonely and tired, and—

Ianto averts his eyes.

He's watching Jack, and has been all morning.

Had the Captain felt it, the previous night?

Ianto hopes not.

His heart calmed down by the morning, but now that he's in the same place as Jack, it hurts again. That's not the right word, though. It's fluttering, like several hundred butterflies have taken up residence there and are trying to get free. They're getting violent and relentless. No matter what Ianto does, they need to get out.

They don't. He doesn't let them.

This isn't love, it's a mistake.

At first, Ianto takes to avoiding the Captain. It quickly turns out that he can't, so he adopts the persona of the perfect butler. He's close, but not too close, and always there despite blending completely into the background.

He feels like he has constant heartburn, but that's not what it is. Ianto knows, even if he's not saying it.

He wonders if Jack feels it, too.

He doesn't ask, and Jack doesn't tell.

He hides Lisa in the basement, makes coffee for the team, cleans the SUV, disposes of the bodies, makes plans for Dr. Tanizaki to come, finds out everyone's favorite takeaways, and sleeps with Jack.

It's just for comfort. Lisa is fading fast and unless Tanizaki comes soon… Jack is a distraction, nothing more. He's attentive and careful in bed, but brash and cruel at work; Ianto makes sure the two are separated, and responds to Jack's flirting with plain smiles.

At times, he feels close to happy.

In another time, he could have _been_ happy.

By the time Lisa's dead, it's too late to fix things.

Not even his grief can dull his heart's pain. Jack's a tactile person, even angry as he is. He tells Ianto, "I know you loved her."

Ianto just nods. He's probably in shock, he thinks, or heading in that direction. He knows he should care more. His life doesn't depend on Lisa's, but Jack's right: he loved her. There is nothing of her left for him to love, just to mourn, and he's not going to forget her.

"I'm sorry it ended like this," Jack tells him. He looks like he wants to say more. He doesn't.

Ianto doesn't, either.

Jack sits him down on the couch, pats his shoulder, and leaves. Ianto feels like he's being stabbed, and good riddance! He's done no one any good: not her, not the team, not Tanizaki, not Annie.

But it's not a physical pain, and Ianto's not going to die anytime soon.

Why? Because of Jack. Not because of whatever links them, but because Ianto still feels some loyalty to the Captain. Jack makes him promise to live, which is a punishment worse than Retcon or execution. Jack knows that. Ianto wonders if Jack knows—

But that's not the time for that.

Now's the time to grieve.

And then it's time to rebuild.

Ianto has no choice in the matter. He knows time, knows that there's no escaping it, and moves along with it. He knows he needs to talk to someone, knows he needs to move on properly, but he can't. It's like his stomach is full of rats, and it's so rare that he gets to see Jack anymore—the horrible encounter at the pub has let them start anew, but Ianto doesn't know _how_ —that he welcomes the pain.

His bruised ribs aren't fully healed yet when he propositions his boss.

(That's all Jack is, isn't it?)

Now, something that could have been good is just… it's good, of course, because _Jack's_ good, but it can never be anything more. Ianto can't allow that.

He's still mourning Lisa, but it's not that. What he and Jack have is good, but it's by no means solid. It's just comfort. He's lucky it's a recurring event—it wasn't supposed to be.

At the end of the day, Ianto has to face the fact that he was right: there was nothing between them.

Even when Jack kisses him and Ianto feels the usual pain in his heart whenever they touch, he finds it hard to believe in anything. Jack is back to life and looking no worse for wear. He's kissed Gwen just before, Ianto can tell by the faint smell of the perfume, and doubts: what is it? An apology? A joke? A mockery? A friendly peck?

When Jack disappears, Ianto is twenty-four. When Jack comes back, Ianto is still twenty-four, but he feels so tired.

Jack asks him out on a date, and Ianto would like to decline. It's a matter of pride more than anything else. Jack's left him, after all, and what sort of person would Ianto be if he forgives Jack just like that? But he understands—or tries to, at least—what made Jack leave, and Jack seems genuinely sorry.

So Ianto accepts. He's nervous, but with Jack back, he feels better.

He still doesn't believe in soulmates, but when Jack touches him, he feels the pain in his chest again.

There's got to be some sort of explanation that doesn't sound like it's out of a romantic comedy, but Ianto can't think of one.

Everything else is going smoothly, though, so he has nothing to complain about. He doesn't, enjoying his dates with Jack and their banter while at work. Everything feels so relaxed somehow, even though nothing's really changed.

Well, not exactly.

He knows Jack will never say the words. But he won't ask for them. What they have is good, and Ianto's not a demanding person. If he was, things might have been different; if Jack wanted a demanding person, he'd be with Gwen.

Ianto's relationship with the team has never been better, as has his relationship with Jack. There's a certain tranquil atmosphere around them, and Ianto knows exactly what to blame.

He never says the words out loud, but he knows. He loves Jack—perhaps it will be his downfall—but Ianto believes in love.

Love isn't pain or hopelessness. It's hard, but in the end, love is happiness.

Ianto doesn't believe in soulmates, but he believes in love. He believes he loves Jack, and that's enough for him.

Months later, when he and Jack have something resembling a serious relationship, he stops doubting.

Ianto's twenty-four, almost twenty-five; it's his birthday the next day.

He doesn't remember the exact hour of the day—he likes to keep track of things like that—which isn't a discredit to his near-perfect memory, but a sentiment to the fact that he has a just-diagnosed concussion. One day, he knows, working at Torchwood will take its final toll on him. But that day hasn't come yet.

Instead, with the Rift quiet and most of the paperwork done, he gets a lazy day at home. Jack joins him, even though Ianto's hardly interesting company.

He's suffering from lack of sleep and nursing a headache, but they spend a pleasant afternoon together, and it's probably just his imagination, but he feels better just being next to Jack.

He says that, too, lacking his usual filter because of the head injury. "You usually make me hurt."

Jack's response is a cross between hurt, confusion, and amusement. "How's that, Ianto?"

Ianto's thoughts seem to have gotten away from him. He scrunches up his nose as he thinks. "My chest," he says at last, making a motion to try to indicate where. "Burns."

Jack smiles. Ianto doesn't think of why, at the time, but he looks happy. He nuzzles Ianto's neck. He whispers, "Me, too, Ianto," and promises to talk about it the next day, before gently rearranging them for a satisfactory cuddle.

Ianto's twenty-five, and that's exactly how long it's taken him to accept the idea that soulmates are real.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :D


End file.
